


Morning Star

by xJennaObrienx



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 13x21, 13x21:beat the devil, Apocalypse world, Cage Trauma, Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, Men of Letters Bunker, Resurrection, Samifer - Freeform, Winchester - Freeform, beat the devil, sam's death, season13, series13, spn 13x21, spn season 13, supernatural 13x21, supernatural season13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-03 04:24:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14560800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xJennaObrienx/pseuds/xJennaObrienx
Summary: It wasn't the pathway there that was unclear to Sam. It was the destination. It always was. That was what led to his downfall every time - his complete inability to second guess Lucifer's plans. Every time he went the same way, promising himself that this time he'd won, that this time he was victorious, only for Lucifer to turn and laugh in his face at his pathetic misjudgement.Sam hated him. With every ounce of his soul, he hated him.





	Morning Star

Sam hated the way the blood had partly dried across his neck, thick and sticky, trailing all the way down his torso; it irritated his skin under the feeble warmth of the sunlight. The shirt he'd bought two weeks before was ruined, ripped and stained with enough blood to make him look like a dead man walking.

Or rather, he had been a dead man. Now he was as alive as he had been twenty-four hours previously, his heart still pumping strongly. But unlike yesterday, he felt like he'd come back from the dead. If a reaper had visited him he didn't recall it, and he certainly had no memory of anything after being dragged down that pitch black cave. But his throat still throbbed from a deep wound that no longer existed and he could almost feel the heat of the blood gushing from the wound. Thanks to Lucifer - he never thought he'd say it without sarcasm - the wound was gone. Although he had yet to decide if it was a good thing - the archangel certainly didn't do it out of the kindness of his heart. It was the beginning of something much worse.

But Sam had been caught in a moment of weakness, agreeing to take him to Jack... Dying once was bad enough, with his throat ripped out wide enough to spill half the blood from his body almost instantly. He wasn't willing to experience the same agony again, this time with several times as many bodies fighting to rip him to shreds. He just hoped his friends and brother were willing to forgive him, though he could understand why they wouldn't.

He shuddered, recalling the pain and sound of his own skin being shredded and ripped away from his body. His time in the cage couldn't compare to now of course, but at least the pain in there had been slow - Lucifer had always given him time to recover in between the torture... he could breathe...rest as well as he could in between the blinding pain. At least then he'd already been dead; there was nothing else for him to lose except his sanity.

But the vampires...they'd had strength like he'd never seen before, like some sort of hybrid. The ones he'd encountered before at least had some sort of human trait. These ones didn't look like they could speak a word of any known language or even think for themselves; they were simply driven by an uncontrollable instinct that craved blood.

For all the time he'd spent in the deepest pit of hell, Sam had no recollection of ever experiencing a torture like this one. Lucifer had never mauled him apart like a wild animal, desperate enough for blood that he was willing to die in the attempt to get it. If he had, his mind possessed no memory of it. Five thousand years worth of memories was impossible for the human brain to process or contain - just over a hundred years was already pushing it. Besides, Lucifer had always been slow and steady anyway, always making a point to take his time. An aeon of years inside the cage had long quenched any real impatience the devil had. No one alive knew patience like he did.

Perhaps that was why he always seemed to win in the end, to come out on top. Manipulation and an infinity of mind tricks may have gotten him the role of the tortoise in the bigger picture, but it soon worked out for him when he outran the Winchesters again and again, despite everything they threw at him.

Sam had always thought he'd been the patient one. He was the one to think things through and stay level headed while his brother rushed off into the distance, guns blazing, always shooting first and asking questions later. Now he wondered if he was too much of the same thing...perhaps the two of them had always been the hares all along. They had their wins in short bursts, separated by unbalanced periods of darkness and loss.

Lucifer had the stamina. He was never out of the race, always far behind them until he suddenly appeared in the far distance, metres from the finishing line. The devil always seemed to catch up with them in the end, no matter what they did.

Here and now was yet another example of the Winchester's repeated failure. Sam found himself agreeing to take the archangel to a safe haven - perhaps one of the last safe places on the alternative earth - with blood spilt across his face like war paint; he couldn't help but feel he looked the part of Lucifer's perfect soldier. Not only did he look like he belonged with the dead (specifically the dead in Hell), but he was playing the role of it too. Lucifer's plans for him were the only thing keeping him alive.

He could have refused; he knew that. There were innocent people at this camp - children even - yet here he was, choosing his own life over everyone else's, just to save himself from a repeated fate. But then again, surely the archangel would have arrived there anyway, regardless of whether or not he came bearing "gifts".

Sam hated him. With every ounce of his soul, he hated him.

Through the trees now, he could see gentle wisps of smoke floating skyward, the thin tongues evaporating into empty air as the trees around him creaked. There were other sounds too, beside Lucifer's gradually quieting singing that lacked both rhythm and tune. These other sounds betrayed the location of the camp - human sounds. Sounds of civilisation. He could hear the heavy thud of an axe sinking into wood, materials flapping in the wind, fragments of conversation carried by the breeze.

His eyes caught the fine footprints along the soft ground too. They were fresh and undisturbed, maybe a few hours old at the most. Although there were too many sets for the group of people that had left him behind, he found himself believing that his friends had made it there alive. The sole of his brother's shoe was unmistakable too; he doubted anyone in this world had access to the boots they'd bought three weeks prior, from a small family-owned store not far from the bunker.

In this world, he wondered if the bunker even existed. Would the warding enable even a little of it to remain? Had it even existed in the first place? He was unsure of how much had truly changed. It was disorientating, exploring an alternate reality. Either things seemed to be utterly unchanged, or so different that they became unrecognisable. Perhaps he was gradually becoming the latter, now that an alternate death had grabbed him. Was he truly still alive, after being brought back by a power that had no place in this world?

"Doesn't look like you're hanging on in there too well, Sam," Lucifer called out suddenly, the singing breaking off quite abruptly. Sam jumped, distracted momentarily from his trail of thoughts. The nursery rhymes - which had admittedly become more disturbing as time passed - were fairly easy to tune out and ignore. But the direct conversation was harder to block. Whether it was supported by angel grace or not, Lucifer had a habit of drawing Sam's attention regardless of what he wanted. "You're looking a little pale."

"Although I have to say, you seem to be extraordinarily calm for someone who just died. But then again, I guess that's a regular occurrence for you and your brother these days. Kind of loses the appeal after the first few times, doesn't it? Maybe we should try to make it more permanent next time...maybe lock you up in the cage again - after all, there's not exactly anyone to pull you back out anymore, not after I've reunited with my son and exterminated your hairless ape friends and your half charged angel. But hey! We could even be roomies again. If you do what I say, I'll even let you choose - upper or lower bunk, Buddy? I mean, if I remember correctly, you always had a thing for the higher bunk, but that's perfectly understandable considering you're like eight feet tall and have a thing for heights. But who knows? Maybe you'll even be in the mood to share. Those were good times. Remember that, Sam?"

Sam drew in a tight breathe, curling his shaking hands into fists. He wasn't sure where the rambling chatter had erupted from. Maybe the archangel had noticed the singing tactic failing to take effect. Maybe he just wanted to work Sam up for the big reveal later on or manipulate him into doing something he would surely regret. But whatever the reason, it had grabbed Sam's attention. He closed his eyes briefly, counting to ten. He needed to stay calm...he had to stay calm.

But the conversation continued, still one-sided. Whatever Lucifer wanted, he took it - he didn't need Sam's input - willing or unwilling. Instead, he fed on his deepest fears and emotions, climbing up dangerous walls that were barely able to contain his mental sanity as it was.

It took all of Sam's self-control to not respond. The words were on the tip of his tongue - vile and repulsing - but he held on, jaw firmly clamped shut. This behaviour wasn't entirely uncharted territory. It had always been one of Lucifer's favourite games, as immature as it was, to taunt and bully with verbal speeches and to manipulate with lies and hallucinations. The game always ended the same way; they both knew it. Sam would snap. He would bite back, only to find himself playing right into the devil's hands, much to the archangel's delight.

No. It wasn't the pathway there that was unclear to Sam. It was the destination. It always was. That was what led to his downfall every time - his complete inability to second guess Lucifer's plans. Every time he went the same way, promising himself that this time he'd won, that this time he was victorious, only for Lucifer to turn and laugh in his face at his pathetic misjudgement. 

When Sam opened his eyes again, he could see the edge of the camp through the filtered light beneath the trees. Here the trunks were thicker, although many were stumps, torn down either by weather, angels or man. He trod carefully, caution and a lingering fear he couldn't explain encouraging him to hang back. A buzz of chatter could be heard from this point and he was close enough that he could hear individual footsteps coming down on foliage. 

With the familiar feeling of guilt settling at the pit of his stomach, he allowed himself to slide behind the cover of a tree. By now Lucifer had joined him, mouth finally closed but with his smug smile saying everything he wanted to say.

Sam could no longer tune him out. No matter how much he wanted to, this world had a problem he couldn't ignore. Not for the first time, he'd also single-handedly led Lucifer into a world where he had the potential to destroy everything. It seemed like it truly was the apocalypse.

Shaking himself, he peered out from beneath the shadows, observing the camp with a hitch in his breath. 

There were children there. A couple of them at least, bundled up in coats so big that they seemed to be drowning in them. But still, they charged up and down beside a small body of water, hands outstretched as they attempted to capture the other's hood. Their faces were marked with dirt, emphasising the shallowness of their faces and the prominence of their cheekbones. 

A quick glance at the other survivors told him that no one else was in much better shape. Telltale signs of the beginning of starvation hung in their faces, the dirt and old clothing showing neglect and ill health. It told him all he needed to know - a good half of these people were in no condition to fight. He doubted any would be regardless of health; they were just normal civilians who had gotten lucky and made it this far. If the angels didn't kill them, the starvation and deprivation of necessary resources surely would.

Yet there were no familiar faces in the threadbare crowd. A small, partly neglected wooden cabin obscured his view, limiting his visual access to the camp, but he could tell it stretched on for further than he could see. Dean would be somewhere there, along with Cas, Gabriel and the two people they'd taken with them. Maybe if they were lucky, Jack and Mary would be there too.

With this thought in mind, he stepped forward to find a new vantage point that offered better visibility, only for a shrill bell to ring out across the clearing and surrounding woods.

He was vaguely aware of Lucifer's frustrated sigh from behind the tree, laced with an overexaggerated air of mock disappointment, but before he could back up to unwillingly join the archangel, two of the survivors - rebels - stepped into his line of sight, rifles out and aimed at his chest.

Perhaps his judgement was just weak overall. These people were much more prepared than he'd given them credit for. He briefly wondered what had started the shrill bell. Had they passed some well-hidden warding? Was it a spell? Whatever the reason, the rebels - a young man and a woman who looked to be a few years older than himself - seemed completely indifferent to it.

"Hands up," the man instructed, his hand steady on the rifle. Sam complied without argument, fully aware of the way they both looked at his neck rather than his eyes. Clearly, it looked as bad as he felt.

"Who are you?" the woman demanded beside him. Her voice was rough like she was recovering from a bad cough, but she didn't look ill - at least no more than anyone else.

"Sam Winchester," he replied, his own voice just as raspy. He wondered how long he'd been dead, how long it had been since he'd last drank something. The footprints were some indicator of how much time had passed, but who knew if physics still worked the complete same way that they had down in his world. For all he knew, it could have been days before Lucifer caught up with him.

The man frowned, the rifle finally wavering slightly.

"They told us you were dead," he said tentatively. "That you got your throat ripped out by some of those ...things."

"I almost did," Sam lied, the false words rolling easily off his tongue as he tried to look convincing and not relieved at the confirmation that the others had made it. "They dragged me off somewhere before I could get rid of them. I barely got away and then I lost the others."

"They change you?" the woman asked, her voice laced with suspicion as she watched him through narrowed eyes. Unlike her partner, she brought the rifle up a little higher.

"What? No."

He frowned, realising he hadn't even considered it. The vamps didn't look like they were about to turn anyone. They'd been too desperate for blood. Maybe that particular message hadn't yet reached the campers, although he could understand their suspicions. Although at this point, turning into a vampire was the least of his worries.

The woman shared a look with the younger man and the brief communication seemed to lead them to a decision.

"Story checks out," she told Sam, turning back to him. "We're gonna have to do tests anyway - holy water, silver knife, salt...whatever. Harvey here is gonna go and turn this damned bell off. I'll take you into camp. The name's Hayley, by the way."

He nodded, afraid that his voice would give out completely if he said another word. But Hayley didn't appear to take any offence, gesturing at him to move with her gun as Harvey turned and stalked off towards the cabin. 

Sam obeyed immediately, suddenly aware that neither of them had noticed the archangel hiding behind the tree. His breath hitched again and he winced, dreading what was about to come.

But Hayley seemed completely oblivious, lowering the rifle and turning away to walk back into the camp. Harvey disappeared around one end of the nearby cabin, while Sam continued to follow his guide behind some trees and towards an unfinished structure. She paused and waited for him to catch up, gesturing for him to go ahead of her. The whole time she didn't spare a glance behind her, remaining completely oblivious to the added company of Lucifer who had followed a good few metres behind.

"Here," was all Hayley said, encouraging him to walk through the structure as she paused at its edge, perhaps preparing to return to her allocated guard position. "Home, sweet home."

He trudged out from the shadows and into the clearing, blinking rapidly as he tried to get his eyes to adjust to the sudden change in light. As he did so the bell abruptly silenced and almost as one, the entire camp seemed to turn and look at him, their faces lined with a heavy suspicion.

Now more than ever he was aware of the blood that covered him, but before he could become distracted by it, he caught sight of the faces he knew very well. He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his mouth as he made eye contact with Jack and Cas, then his mom and Dean. He could see Gabriel too. They were here. They were alive. He didn't think he'd ever seen Jack look so pleased to see someone, although the evident confusion from Cas was not unfamiliar at all.

He turned to Mary, expecting to see a smile, but instead, she looked like she'd seen a ghost. She stared at him with something he couldn't quite identify, but it felt like she was seeing him for the first time again. There was recognition in her features, along with disbelief and something that told Sam she immediately knew something was wrong. Her jaw was clenched, her eyes wary. Suddenly unable to look at her any longer, Sam spared a glance at Dean.

His brother was watching him, mouth slightly agape, eyes wide as if he didn't quite believe that what he was seeing was real. He almost seemed cautious of his little brother, hesitantly hovering on the spot as he internally debated his next move. Sam could almost see the cogs turning in Dean's mind as he struggled with himself. Something too seemed to be telling him that something was wrong - perhaps he was remembering how Sam couldn't have survived, never mind recover so quickly from a wound like that.

Only the footsteps behind him stopped Sam from stumbling further, from reassuring his brother and confirming that it was real. It was all real. His smile faltered and the dread returned, instantly crushing whatever relief he'd just felt at seeing his family. He tried to call out, to warn them, but the breath got caught in his throat and whatever sound he'd tried to make was lost again.

He froze, overcome by fear and guilt and every other negative emotion, unable to look into the eyes of anyone in front of him. His heart was hammering, adrenaline making his hands shake...but yet he could do nothing. All he could think of was how stupid he'd been to not die a second time in that hellish underground passageway, where he could have at least died knowing that he hadn't betrayed his family to Lucifer for the second time.

He could hear the archangel's gentle steps, a strong contrast to everything he stood for. He knew without looking that he was stood right behind him, that everyone had turned to look at vessel he possessed. He knew without looking that Dean's face would be contorted into a mask of fury and rage so strong he'd probably attempt to kill Lucifer with his bare hands.

But he couldn't look at anyone because he'd done the very thing he'd promised himself he would never do. 

As Lucifer took another step forward and lay a possessive hand on his shoulder, a single thought, a single memory, a single warning crossed his mind. He shuddered.

Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter...

....we will always...

...end up...

...here.

Regardless of whether or not the Winchesters existed, they would always find a way to bring the apocalypse; it seemed that free will was an illusion after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally I wanted to have this posted before 13x22, but I'm a slow writer and I was busy with school work. But despite the lateness, I still want you to enjoy it! All comments are welcome and I would love some criticism!


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